


The Search for Life in a Glow-in-the-Dark Galaxy

by broflovski (castlesintheair)



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Sleepovers, just a coupla kids who can't talk about their feelings, not sure how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castlesintheair/pseuds/broflovski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kyle hummed in reply, and Stan could hear the smile in his voice. He smiled too, goofily, glancing up to grin in Kyle’s general direction before he pulled the edges of his sleeping bag up to his chin."</p><p>A sleepover and some feelings, poorly-hidden. Children get older.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Search for Life in a Glow-in-the-Dark Galaxy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quesarito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quesarito/gifts).



> Happy Hell Day to [redacted], who didn’t ask for this, but she’s getting it anyway. I don’t really write anymore, but South Park (sin) seems to be my creative flame, creeping out of the shadows every so often to pull me back into the aforementioned Pit. This was an accident. Just a couple of emotionally-stunted kids having the same conversation, more or less, that I had with my best friend when I was eleven. Authentic, right?

Stan zipped up the side of his sleeping bag and lay back on the floor, finally giving in to a very unwelcome visit from Mrs. Broflovski wherein she’d told the boys that it was time to quiet down and get some sleep. Kyle had whined a bit - not seriously enough to risk getting in trouble, of course - but the verdict remained the same: it was bedtime.

Midnight was fast approaching, and Stan and Kyle had to admit, even to themselves, that they were pretty exhausted. Still, they continued to whisper about the highly anticipated next Terrance and Phillip movie for a while after Mrs. Broflovski left, just to stick it to the man. Stan had been looking forward to this for weeks; he and Kyle used to have a sleepover every Saturday night, but the tradition had become much more difficult to stick to lately than it had been in the past.

“Dude,” Kyle giggled, drawing out the syllables in a way that suggested he was half-asleep already. “What about, what if they called it, ‘Shit on my Face’ – do,” he laughed with more force, then shushed himself, almost trailing off, “do you get it?”

“Yeah, dude,” Stan replied, squishing his cheek into his pillow. His eyelids had started to droop shut. “Fucking sick,” he made a face, but it was mostly for his own benefit.

Kyle hummed in reply, and Stan could hear the smile in his voice. He smiled too, goofily, glancing up to grin in Kyle’s general direction before he pulled the edges of his sleeping bag up to his chin.

They lay there in silence for a while, listening to the low, electric hum of Kyle’s alarm clock. Stan figured that Kyle had fallen asleep when he didn’t pick up the conversation after a few minutes, so he resigned himself to doing the same: the worst part of any sleepover. The promise of a delicious breakfast made by someone other than his own mother was always kind of exciting, but nothing beat poking fun at each other for hours in the dark. 

Stan had finally started to drift off when Kyle’s voice broke through the silence, no louder than his quietly buzzing clock.

“Stan?”

“Mmph, yeah?” Stan mumbled into his pillow, pulling a hand out of his sleeping bag to rub at his eyes. 

“Oh,” Kyle said, louder this time. He sounded surprised. “I didn’t think you were still awake.” 

Stan rolled over, squinting so that he could kind of see where Kyle’s nose was poking over the side of his mattress. He could almost make out the shape of his hair, half-covered by blankets. “I am now,” he replied, scrunching his nose in distaste. 

“Sorry,” Kyle frowned, sitting up a bit more. He paused, considering his next move. “You can go back to sleep. It’s not important.”

“Aw dude, come on,” Stan whined, “You can’t wake me up just to leave me hanging like that.” He shuffled backward a bit so that he could sit up, leaning on his arm for support. He was still shorter than Kyle’s mattress, but it put him almost at eye level. Close enough.

Kyle looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, flopping onto his back as he followed the path of the tiny galaxy he’d created. Stan allowed himself to look away from Kyle so that he could follow suit; maybe doing so would put him in the same headspace and telepathically reveal Kyle’s apparent secret.

It didn’t work. Stan wondered once again if Kyle had fallen asleep, maybe for real this time. Growing impatient, he scooted out of his sleeping bag altogether and bumped the mattress, eliciting a, “Hey, what are y-“ from Kyle before jumping right on top of him, quite unceremoniously.

“Dude! What the fuck?” Kyle spluttered, putting his hands in front of his face to defend himself. Stan laughed, quietly, then swatted Kyle’s hands away so that he could shush him with his palm.

“Your parents are gonna hear us talking if you don’t shut up, dude,” he said matter-of-factly. Kyle glanced over at his closed door – namely, the lack of light peeking through from under it – and seemed to agree.

“What are you doing up here?” Kyle hissed, simultaneously shoving Stan toward the wall while he wiggled out from under him. “This is weird, dude.”

Stan frowned. “You think so?”

Kyle stared back at him, his expression serious, while Stan narrowed his eyes, wondering what had caused the sudden change in tone. It took him a few seconds to remember that Cartman had recently developed an obsession with calling them out whenever they, quote unquote, “got gay.” He scoffed. “Do you really believe that shit? Come on, man, Cartman’s just being weird. And gross. And, I mean, Cartman." 

“He’s not wrong, though,” Kyle muttered, more quietly than he had to, as though he were ashamed that he’d gotten to the point where he was agreeing with the worst person either of them had ever known.

“You think so?” Stan repeated, pulling his knees up to his chest so that he wasn’t taking up as much space on the tiny bed. It had hardly been big enough for the both of them two years ago, much less now. The excuse that their old-fashioned two-to-a-bed sleepovers wouldn’t work anymore due to their recent growth spurts had worked well enough, but if they considered the separation being due to, well, whatever else seemed to be happening lately… Stan didn’t want to think about it.

“I mean,” Kyle looked at him, his expression grave. “Guys shouldn’t share a bed, you know? And we’re getting older now; it’s weird. Even ma said-”

“What? What did she say?” Stan suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Mrs. Broflovski had no reason to voice an opinion here, much less _have_ one in the first place. It was like a stranger had been let in on a secret, _their_ secret; something important, and special, and safe. This was their space. They were super best friends. They just did what super best friends did.

Kyle looked down, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he admitted. He glanced at the door again. “She told me-” he bit his lip, “I don’t know. She just said that boys our age should, shouldn’t… uh.” He gestured to Stan, to himself, to the bed. “Y’know?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “We’ve been doing this for years, dude. You’re my best friend, come on. We’re hardly eleven!”

Kyle huffed, disgruntled. “I _know_ that. It’s just, everyone at school lately is so… weird. And I know Cartman isn’t _right,_ but what if he, I dunno, has a point? And now my mom, and when I-” he caught himself and bit his lip again. “Nothing. It just… feels weird.”

“Well, _I_ don’t feel weird.” Stan said, crossing his arms over his knees. That was a lie. At that moment, he felt very weird. “People are idiots. It’s just that none of them know what it’s like to actually have a non-dysfunctional fucking relationship with someone. You know, as friends.” He looked up at the glow-in-the-dark galaxy again. “People are getting fucked up on hormones and shit because they’re all… shallow idiots, you know? They’re assholes. They’re just jealous.”

Kyle looked back at Stan, shocked by his sudden fervour, but clearly considering what he’d said. He still seemed troubled, but some of the tension left his shoulders. “Maybe you’re right.” He allowed, pulling at a curl that was hanging loose on his forehead.

“Maybe I am.” Stan agreed, meeting his eyes. They sat like that for a few seconds, something akin to the electric hum of Kyle’s alarm clock buzzing in Stan’s chest, before Kyle coughed and moved his attention to his sheets, then to the sleeping bag. It lay crumpled and vacant on Kyle’s carpet, and it suddenly seemed a lot more significant than it had ten minutes ago.

“Either way, I guess you could, uh,” Kyle muttered, still looking down. Stan got the hint and carefully shuffled off the bed, avoiding Kyle’s legs, which he’d pulled up toward his chest much in the same way that Stan had. Something was different. He didn’t like it.

When he finally settled back into his sleeping bag, Stan turned away from Kyle, his eyes level with the gap under the door. He grimaced, frustrated at Cartman, as usual. He was also royally pissed at the kids at school, but, most of all, he was furious with the adults who always had to stick their noses where they weren’t wanted. This wasn’t about them.

Once again, Stan resigned himself to falling asleep. And, once again, just as he felt himself drifting off, he heard his name.

“Stan?” Kyle’s voice was louder this time, but still unsure. Stan replied, the word nearly sticking in his throat.

“Yeah?”

“Do you…” there was a long pause, and Stan could hear his heart beating through his pillow. Kyle took a deep breath. “Do you think I’m ugly?” 

Stan felt his heart stop. He was still staring at the crack under the door, and he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. “Kyle, what?” 

“I mean,” Kyle sounded panicked now. He spoke quickly. “Not, I mean, not like- okay, I mean, do you think a _girl_ would, uh, would like me? Do you think I’m, um, do you think I’m… not terrible, face-wise? Or whatever.” Stan could hear him fiddling with the loose screw on his headboard, his breathing quick and unsteady. Stan’s own heart was racing, but he refused to let his thoughts go to a place that would allow him to consider why.

“Um…” he replied, then screwed his eyes shut, burning with embarrassment.

“Not in like, a gay way?” Kyle said this as if it were a question, slightly hysterically, before he caught himself and whispered again. “That would be stupid. I mean in a totally normal way, dude. Man to man.” 

“Right,” Stan replied, trying not to sound like he’d just swallowed a glass full of sand. “Man to man. Uh,” he rolled over and looked up at the ceiling again, hoping to find an answer in the plastic stars. As expected, the stars gave him nothing. He faltered.

“You know what? It’s fine.” Kyle said, and Stan could hear the mattress squeaking as he presumably buried himself in blankets. “Goodnight, Stan.” His voice was muffled.

Stan remained silent, breathing deeply in an attempt to slow his racing pulse. When he felt that he could think semi-clearly again, he turned all the way around to face the mattress, and found that Kyle was, in fact, fully cocooned in his sheets. Stan frowned. He considered his options. Finally, his voice barely audible through his own zipped-up sleeping bag, he answered.

“Yeah, Kyle.” He whispered, as Kyle snored. “I think you’re pretty decent, face-wise.”


End file.
